


Domesticated

by Viridian5



Series: Domesticated [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Domestic, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-19
Updated: 1998-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek ponders the pros and cons, costs and rewards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domesticated

**Author's Note:**

> Teeny, tiny spoiler for _The X-Files: Fight the Future_.
> 
> Inspired by a thread on the nick-fixx list, this one is for Te, who immediately coined the term "Alexeibellei" after hearing part of my idea. You'll see. Thanks to Te for whipping this puppy into shape during the beta process.
> 
> A 1998 Whammy co-winner for Best Slash Mini fanfic (under 10K).

I always figured I could get used to anything. It seemed to be true. That ability kept me alive and mostly sane through shit that would break and kill almost anyone else. Now it's part of the problem.

My current situation didn't seem to be sanity or life threatening. On the surface.

Mulder burrowed deeper into my side, gently pushing me further toward the back of the leather couch. After being on assignment somewhere in Wisconsin for a week, he'd come home tonight battered and bruised, so tired he could only change into an old pair of sweat clothes before collapsing on the couch. When I'd joined him here, he sighed contentedly and mumbled that he didn't sleep well without me.

I'd needed that week. I'd gone back to life-as-usual--or what used to be--dancing on the edge between legal and illegal, between life and death. Reestablishing contacts, trading secrets, threatening people who needed to be threatened. Occasionally killing people who needed to be killed.

I did a lot of walking and thinking, staying away from the apartment. At least, I tried to stay away from the apartment. I couldn't help dropping by every night to see if Mulder had gotten back yet, even as I hated myself for it. I never checked the answering machine or hung around, though. I tried to see that as a sign of independence and not just a reaction to his absence.

Mulder's hair, cut short by some nutjob captor two cases ago, tickled my neck. When he'd come home with it that first time, I'd threatened to kill the bastard, but said bastard had already died under paranormal circumstances. Mulder had tried to assure me he hadn't been injured, that the haircut wasn't that bad. Of course, one of our common bonds included the occasional tendency to butcher our hair, just because. He pretended to be upset when I started calling him "porcupine."

Three months ago I'd showed up at his apartment, badly injured and worn down. My patron had gotten himself barbecued, and it was Krycek season all over again. After the traditional fight with the trading of insults and double entendres, Mulder took me in. Imagine my surprise. Imagine my further surprise when he decided to take up my care and feeding. Treated and bandaged my wounds, spoke to me without yelling or trying to punch me, started teaching himself to cook....

I'd decided that if this Mulder was a pod person, he was at least treating me well. Very well. The second night I'd seduced him, or he'd seduced me, whichever. I never knew he could be so sweet and savage at the same time, or that he--or anyone--could make noises like that. He'd turned out to be every bit as talented with that mouth as I'd hoped. We started a new tradition.

So, my stay here had just been about getting great sex and the other basic necessities, right? Food, shelter... warmth....

I'd healed, started to put on enough weight that I no longer looked transparent. My forays outside got me the knowledge that the war had quieted down a bit. I could have left, if I wanted.

I stayed, and Mulder slowly lost that look he used to have every time he came home. The one that said he was surprised to see me still here.

But very pleasantly surprised....

I wish I could say for sure when my plan had started to go so wrong. The closest thing I could put my finger on was the first time I cleaned the apartment. I'd gotten bored and didn't feel like going out, so I went to work. Clutter was fine, and Mulder seemed more comfortable in the middle of an environment of controlled chaos, but he'd been letting the apartment reach a new state of filthiness.

When he had gotten home and seen what I'd done, it seemed to mean something to him I hadn't intended. At least, I hadn't _originally_ intended.... Oh, no.

Seeing how uncomfortable I'd become, he started cracking jokes. Said I'd evicted some dust bunnies he'd been on a first name basis with and disrupted the experiment in evolution he'd been conducting in the refrigerator, but the jokes provided only a light cover for what we knew had started to happen.

And I still stayed, and I still cleaned. I'd gotten used to being clutched tightly in my sleep, waking up for Mulder's nightmares, and sleeping through him getting up to run or go to work. To steady meals. To indolent Sunday mornings of eating breakfast together at noon and reading the paper at the kitchen table. To checking for bugs. To nights of popcorn, beer, awful movies, and often mind-blowing sex. To wanting to kill the people who tried to hurt and kill him and figuring out which ones I could get away with and which ones I shouldn't even try. To having an enthusiastic bed partner any time I wanted him. To him, to the point where even his annoying tics were starting to seem cute. To snuggling, for God's sake. To having someone around and not wondering when he'd stick the knife in my back....

I'd never expected this. This wasn't me.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

With his hair sticking up in spikes and his eyes trained on my face like the laser scope on a rifle, Mulder was a rumpled vision of care and concern. I wondered how long he'd been awake and watching me. Coddled and safe, I was losing my survival instincts.

The resulting flash of terror made me say, "I'm going soft."

"Not to my knowledge." The leer couldn't hide the fear in his eyes. He knew what I meant.

I pulled up my T-shirt. "Look at this, I'm getting fat." After years of living hand to mouth, my body seemed to have settled into starvation mode, still trying to create reserves even after months of plenty. I still worked out, but I now had a bit of stomach.

I knew I was dancing around the issue. Mulder slid down and rested his head against my belly. The short hair brushing against my bare skin made me squirm. "It's only a little tummy, Alex, and I like it. I could tap out a tune on your ribs when you first showed up."

"You _like_ it?"

When he looked up at me, I saw sparks in his deep green eyes. "Oh, yeah. I think it's sexy." Then the bastard started to tickle me.

Completely helpless, unable to catch my breath through the laughter, I struggled and made incoherent death threats that only seemed to goad Mulder on. Mentioning knives and guns and the things I would do with them only made him hotter. My own fault for taking up with someone as kinky as he is.

Eventually he stopped tickling and started kissing, worshipping my stomach. Soft lips and a rough tongue ravaged me. The mixture of his warm breath and the cooling trails on my skin where his mouth had already been made me shiver. As he tongued my navel, I let myself dissolve under him.

I knew what had happened to me. Once upon a time, I had come to his door for food, shelter, and a bit of petting, gleeful in the thought of how easily I was taking advantage of the poor sap. Still getting what I wanted, I'd stayed. I made the mistake of starting to _need_ these things, to need him, and freedom and independence looked less and less inviting.

You might as well put a collar with a bell on me.

Mulder stopped and pulled away. "I was thinking of getting you a black one with little rhinestones." He got off me and perched on the edge of the couch, eyes down. He looked desolated. My fault.

Shit. My instincts _are_ shot.

"I didn't-- I never meant to take ownership of you or make it harder for you to use me." Mulder laughed bitterly. "You can do whatever you like, Alex," he said softly, "whatever."

It actually hurt me to see him so hurt. "Mulder."

"What?" He wouldn't look at me, but I saw misery in his every feature.

A week alone hadn't decided the issue for me. Seeing him now, like this, seeing how it made me feel.... It forced everything into clarity. I knew what I had to do.

I leaned forward and turned his face toward mine. He looked at me like he was waiting for me to take the next shot that would put an end to us, to say the words that would split us back into just me and him.

I was scared, but I always faced my fears head on. And kicked their asses.

I swallowed. "Own me."

 

### End


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